


Pewter

by inkstrain (orphan_account)



Category: the GazettE
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 03:06:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3158891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/inkstrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His feelings are tarnished, the once gleaming surface of his emotions scratched raw in dying shades of gray-black-gray bleeding <em>please please, again</em>. Because Aoi is past the point of yearning and Uruha realizes it too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pewter

It starts with broken beats, insistent taps on the wood that shake his fainting consciousness awake with every disjointed pound, pulling him back from fading into slumber. At first, he thinks it's just part of the rain's pitter-patter–it had been drizzling nonstop after all–but when he hears the singsong of his name, he eventually realizes that someone is on the other side of the door, knocking. 

_At a little past three in the morning._

"Shi-ro-ya- _maaa~_ "

He sits up with a jolt, disgruntled. Sleepiness momentarily forgotten, he climbs out of bed with an irritated sigh, hurrying to open his hotel room door to get _whatever-this-is_ over and done with as quickly as possible–but nope, that's not happening. As soon as the door opens, he finds himself with an armful of dead weight lead guitar, whiskey-flavored spittle flying everywhere including on his face.

"There you are, _you fucking thief!_ "

Aoi's entire body freezes as his gaze flies down to the gaping mess that has so suddenly latched itself on his chest, eyes impossibly wide. He's startled by the slurred _accusation-out-of-nowhere_ , but more so at the sight of Uruha half embracing him. The younger man is surprisingly drunk, nuzzling his still make up-caked faced against Aoi's chest and staining his pristine sleep shirt with stygian smudges of barely-there eyeshadow and kohl. Furrowing his brows in confusion, Aoi's hands find the younger man's shoulders to push him away, growling under his breath.

"Uruha, what th—"

He doesn't complete his statement because the breath is knocked out of him; a merciless thump on his ribcage that he thinks is _supposed to be_ affectionate, before a cheerful voice comes out of those shapely lips, grin stretched so wide it's become nothing but a painful-looking grimace.

"You give it back to me right the _fuck_ now, Shi-ro-ya-ma!"

Slightly alarmed, Aoi tries to put at least a semblance of distance between himself and his inebriated bandmate, but Uruha won't let go–clings to him tighter instead, hands clawing at the fabric over his heart as if wanting to sink those black-painted nails into sinew and bone. It almost feels like he's going to _yankyankyank_ out what he can from Aoi's chest cavity any moment, make him bleed all over the carpeted floor.

But hey, it's not like this is the first time right? _Because that almost-kiss if Uruha hadn't turned away is the last straw, and Aoi realizes he may have conquered Tokyo Dome but not him_ —never him.

"Wha- _hat_ the hell? Give ba- _hack_ what?" Aoi sputters in between heaves of needed air, lungs still trying to recover from Uruha's jab as the other begins ripping at his top, _literally_. "And what are you doi–"

Uruha is mumbling to himself through gritted teeth, scrambling for purchase on fragile cotton fabric, not even paying him any mind. "It's here somewhere..."

"KOUYOU?!"

The scene of two guitarists grappling at each other pauses almost comically at the sudden hiss of Uruha's real name, the door across Aoi's flying open to reveal a frantic-looking Reita without his noseband and already garbed to turn in for the night. The bassist takes in the sight before him with saucer-eyes, mouth agape, and then—

Uruha _fucking_ giggles, alleviating the charged tension in the air, black-rimmed eyes all crinkly with fake mirth. Because whatever humor is injected on his voice doesn't reach his eyes, and aside from glassy it's nothing but a shade of insipid brown–lifeless, _dead_.

"Oops Akira, sorry." He says lazily, fists still tight around the hem of Aoi's ruined shirt, but at least he's no longer pulling. His ear is pressed against the elder's beating heart, almost as if he's listening. And perhaps he is, but the rhythm guitarist is too frazzled to notice or even care, at this point, eyes narrowed as he tries to understand what the hell Uruha is talking about. "But it's right here, _I told you!_ "

Aoi looks up and glares at Reita- _slash_ -Akira like it's his fault he's being harrassed, and also because he's just standing there like an idiot. Raising his arms up and gesturing at Uruha's clinging form, he gives the bassist a pointed look. 

"Well? _Help me out here!_ "

Reita shakes his head with a heavy sigh, walking over and prying Uruha's fingers off Aoi one by one, all while speaking in an uncharacteristically gentle voice. And the older man doesn't understand what the hell Reita's saying either, feels completely out of the loop because the other seems to know exactly what Uruha is talking about while he has no fucking clue.

"I know Kouyou, but we've talked about this and..." He doesn't miss the wary gleam in Reita's eyes as his gaze flickers at his face for a millisecond, arms coming to wrap around Uruha's jutting shoulders before he's crooning at his wasted bestfriend. "It's not yours. Just... come on, let's leave Aoi to get some rest."

Uruha, compliant the entire time Reita's detaching him from his co-guitarist, suddenly tries to lunge at him again, but this time Aoi is able to evade those grabby hands by jumping back. And the look of hurt that flashes across Uruha's face confuses and shocks the hell out of rhythm guitar, but before he can figure _anything_ out, Reita's already dragging _Kouyou_ away with muttered apologies. 

"I'm sorry man," Reita tells him, without any further explanation as to why he's just been semi-attacked and accused of stealing who-knew-what. Just an excuse, and a lacking one at that. "He's had too much to drink."

And as Aoi stands on his doorway with a shirt that's stretched beyond repair, his flesh scratched red, he wonders blankly what the hell all that was about as the door across his closes with a concluding thud.

_So that's that._

  


..

  


He steps on a crumpled shirt by his doorstep just as he's heading out to meet the band and staff for breakfast, a page from the hotel's standard-issue notepad peeking out of one of its sleeves.

_Replacement for the one last night._

Everyone's downstairs by the time he gets to the lobby, except for the lead guitarist who has gone home ahead of them all with some kind of _emergency._

And when he turns to the bassist with questioning eyes, Reita averts his gaze and turns to Kai, allowing the drummer to talk his ears off so that there's no way in hell Aoi will be able to interrupt _that_ one-sided conversation.

  


..

  


_Found what you were looking for?_

Because Reita is perfecting the art of being unavailable every time he approaches with questions of _what the hell was that 3AM shit_ , Aoi decides on a somewhat direct approach. The reply to his text message comes a minute and a half later, mysterious and vague and just... weird.

**_Not yet, but I know where it is._ **

_But what was it? Are you sure it's with me?_

**_Yes._ **

_What was it then? Did it get mixed in with my stuff or something?_  
_Uruha?_  
_Oi._

  


..

  


When the doorbell rings, he's not yet sleeping, just getting ready to, towel-drying his raven locks with his eyelashes still dripping bathtub water. He usually checks who's on the other side through the peephole but he doesn't this time, expecting Kai to come over to drop off music sheets and lyrics from Ruki.

( _He hasn't checked his phone yet, doesn't know the band leader sent a message while he was on the bath telling him he'll just visit early tomorrow because he's tired_ —)

So instead of the incessant chatter he's mentally prepared himself to endure, he gets a whiff of hard liquor and a glimpse of flat brown eyes instead, catching him off guard as someone barrels forward and he _falls_...

"GIVE IT BACK!"

Aoi's spine meets the floor hard as he is pushed down and straddled, and in his haze of _ow-fuck-what-in-the_ , it takes him several seconds to discern that he has a face full of Uruha. And the younger man is drunk _again_ , worst than ever, and there goes those nails digging at him in a repeat performance of earlier. 

Uruha's nose is cold as he presses it against Aoi's cheek, and the older man shudders as those lips, equally chilled and wet even, decides to fervently whisper against his warm skin in broken gasps, separate words.

"Give. It. Back. _Now!_ "

The door is wide open, and because he can't get the younger guitarist off him and the sight of them _like this_ will look rather suspicious to any passers-by, Aoi kicks his front door closed before confronting the sloshed man on top of him with a firm hand on his shoulders, temper flaring as his palms shove at those collarbones. 

"What is _wrong_ with you Takashi-"

And the kiss that Aoi gets in response tastes like alcohol and nicotine with just the slightest hint of _please please **again**_ —and there would have been a time in the past where he would have molded his lips back against the ones pressed on his own _gladly_ , with abandon, soul singing _yes, finally_ –

Uruha drags his mouth down to Aoi's chin, pulling at the hem of the second shirt he's ruined for the day and following the path of his fingers, creating a trail of saliva as he exposes the rhythm guitarist's chest. 

" _This._ " 

Uruha's whispering lips hover over the flesh covering a rapidly beating heart, and in stunned understanding, Aoi knows what the hell it is they've all been (Reita included) talking about. 

"It's mine Shiroyama, give it back."

He swallows, body going lax against Uruha's as his eyes stare fixedly on a point on his off-white ceiling. From confused anger, Aoi slumps in defeat because the lead guitarist is right. 

Or well, would have been anyway.

He combs his fingers through the other's dyed hair gently, cradling a skull he would have loved to hold close, for all eternity. But that was **_before_** , when Aoi wasn't yet tired of waiting for those eyes to _fucking see him just please god Kouyou_ —

With Uruha's kiss pressed firmly on the beating thing he's ignored all this time, at least until _now_ , Aoi whispers back.

  


"Not anymore."


End file.
